


a place in the sun.

by 21stCenturyHero



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Awkward Motorcycle Rides, Bisexual Disaster Granson Final Fantasy, Hot Springs & Onsen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25082194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/21stCenturyHero/pseuds/21stCenturyHero
Summary: Even after everything, they still had the sun, wasting their youth away even as he knew those eyes so full of sadness.
Relationships: Granson (Final Fantasy XIV)/Warrior of Light
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	a place in the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Granson fans, I would like to apologize in advance.
> 
> For more information on my WOL, *hands you his Carrd* https://astraluna.carrd.co/

Even after everything, they still had the sun.

Shining incandescently across the Handmirror Lake, it stood up and proud where before only the hazy light stretched infinite on top of them, with its aether churning to the wind currents as if it was a cloud, but now, the shadows returned, and he stood in the shade; pale, soft, welcoming, not unlike  _ him, _ and while Granson leaned against the tree and stared at the man tinkering with the machine in front of him, he could hear Anda-Korra cuss under his breath.

Then a pause, and a long breath as the Mystal man fell back and sat on the ground.

“This should be enough for now,” he swore, covered in oil and sweat from standing up in the summer sun, and wasn’t it endearing -- how his graying hair sticked up everywhere, revealing his odd mismatched eyes under his bangs, or how the first couple of buttons of his shirt became undone, baring just enough of his skin for his collarbones to be visible, and for the first time in forever, the large smile on his face was just enough for it to reach his eyes.

It was stunning.

“It better be,” Granson replied in a voice just loud enough for his companion to listen, and his smile grew wider as the Hume shook his head and crossed the distance that separated them, holding out the man’s black coat to him; their fingers met through the cloth as Anda-Korra reached for it, and like every time he touched the mage, he could feel the current of electricity and thunder aether coursing through his veins, making the contact almost unbearable, and yet-- “Are you ready to go?”

“Ready when you are,” Anda-Korra told him, and when Granson pulled him up so he could stand, he didn’t want to let go.

\---

The machine beneath him then roared to life, heading south through the Woolen Way and leaving the Bookman’s Shelves behind as they made their way to Clearmelt. It was electrifying in a way, to be able to wrap his arms around Anda-Korra like this and to rest his head against his back, and when he sped up eliciting a confused welp from Granson as he leaned forward in his vehicle seat, its conductor giggled in delight as the Hume wrapped himself more tightly around him.

“Still not used to riding a motorcycle?” his companion asked breathlessly, and Granson felt so compelled to protest, but there was something about his shit-eating grin and how awkward it was, how he could hear his heat, his heartbeat, as if he was trespassing somehow, that he quickly bit his tongue and swallowed any complaints. “Don’t worry, Granson! Fenrir is a good girl.”

He mumbled something that sounded an awfully lot like “we’ll see” and closed his eyes, focusing solely on Anda-Korra, letting the roar of the engine and the howl of the wind drown his senses; for a long while, there was only the two of them and the road, stretching towards the infinite, with no words being exchanged, until suddenly-- “Sinner-”

“Yes?”

“No, never mind.”

\---

He had heard of Clearmelt before, but was a stranger to the place. Meanwhile Anda-Korra walked with grace, chin held only slightly up, and there was almost a weightless quality to the way he stepped down, as if he was about to take flight at any moment -- so naturally, it was strange to Granson to see him so shy and taken aback as they submerged in the pools, snappish like a gremlin.

And yet-- and yet, he was like a magnet to Granson’s eyes, that wandered in a unholy manner down the curve of his neck, watching as the water drops traveled across the skin, dripping from his wet hair, to his nape, to his back, pulling him  _ in,  _ telling Granson to give in, to reach out, to touch, to--

“I never came to this sort of place before,” Anda-Korra explained under his inquisitive gaze, submerging deeper into the waters as if to escape his shame. “As a child, me and Fou… me and a friend used to bathe in the river south of a certain city, but… well, it was different back then, wasn’t it?”

“I understand,” he replied, and he truly did -- for he too spent days by the water, standing on the seaside with Milinda as they wasted their youth away, and he knew those eyes, so full of sadness, all too well, giving him no choice but to look away in shame. And yet, it was still a mystery to him; how Anda-Korra came to fit so effortlessly in his life, how he came to share the same space as Milinda in his heart and how he could possibly feel this way towards another man.

Yet there were no answers to be found, only the still waters, and they washed away their pain of yesterday amidst the silence.

\---

“Look, Granson,” Anda-Korra called him from the window, and wasn’t he the most stunning thing, with his corset half unlaced and hair and shirt disheveled -- and how radiant was his light, how comforting was his shadow; he, who always walked in the flimsy balance of both, like the Warrior of legend. “A meteor shower.”

He crossed the threshold of the room that separated them to be at his side, and ah, it was enough to break his heart, standing by him and only barely touching their elbows while his hunger begged him to take, and take, and take, until he no longer could breath and completely drowned himself in Anda-Korra’s lungs. He pointed upwards, eyes reflecting a thousand thousand stars, and it made Granson’s breath hitch on his throat, unable to follow the other man’s lead, completely transfixed by his beauty.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

And Granson’s resolve finally shattered, scattered to the four winds, muffling the small surprised noise coming from the Mystal man’s lips with saliva as they came closer, closer, because anything other than skin touching skin was too much, too far for him, and they came and went like the goings of the tides as his hands explored every inch of Anda-Korra’s back, counting his vertebrae and ribs and committing them to memory with the touch.

“Korra,” he called, and it was a prayer. “Korra,” he repeated, and it was a lament. He stepped back, shaking his head as to clear his thoughts, so he wouldn’t fall on them, fall for him, commit the same mistake over and over-- “Sinner, I…”

How did this happen?

\--but when he looked up, glittering and shimmering in the moonlight as clearly as the evidence of his trespassing, was Anda-Korra’s soft smile.

“Granson,” he whispered, and it was an ode.


End file.
